


Lessons in Diplomacy

by StaringAtTheTwinSuns



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Diplomacy, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Missions, Original planet, Politics, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-04-25 17:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaringAtTheTwinSuns/pseuds/StaringAtTheTwinSuns
Summary: Leia, Han, and Luke have all been assigned to participate in a tour of diplomatic missions for the new Republic. There's only one problem—Han and Luke are most definitely NOT politicians, and one free morning isn't nearly enough for Leia to teach them everything they need to know.





	Lessons in Diplomacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcat/gifts).



> This fic is a part of the May the 4th Star Wars Fanworks exchange for 2018, and is a gift for alexcat, whose prompt was:
> 
> Han/Leia, Han & Luke & Leia - an assignment or an adventure with all the snarkiness and fun that only this trio can bring! 
> 
> Notes:
> 
> \- This does not really comply intentionally with either the Disney EU or Legends, but is supposed to be set a couple of years after ROTJ.  
> \- I did a little bit of research about the courtly manners Leia is supposed to be teaching her boys, but I am DEFINITELY not an expert and nothing here should be taken as fact or expert advice. ;)  
> \- Voorpaks are apparently an actual EU creature... however, I took them from Wookieepedia and have not seen/read whatever part of the EU they appear in. I might not have gotten them right.
> 
> This fic ended up being a surprising challenge to write, but it was also a lot of fun! I hope you enjoy! :)

**Lessons in Diplomacy**

Leia Organa wasn't angry.

She was stressed. And exhausted. And she was starting to regret, with every fiber of her being, her own stupid, selfish insistence on bringing Han along as the representative of the Republic military, when any of their other, more well-mannered generals would have done, and when her hands had already been full enough, trying to shape Luke into a diplomat after the war.

But she wasn't angry, and even if she was, it would have been impossible to stay that way when her husband, still dressed in a slightly rumpled version of the formalwear he’d reluctantly worn to the welcome banquet, greeted her at the door to their suite with a lopsided grin and a glass of red wine.

“Good evening, princess,” he said, taking in the gown and the jewels she had worn to her late meeting, but now couldn’t wait to get out of. “How’d it go?”

“Well enough.” Leia shrugged out of her wrap and sank into one of the suite’s sumptuous armchairs. That, at least, was true. M’bareth had been a good choice—or a safe choice, anyway—for the first stop on their diplomatic tour. The Kingdom of Storgas, of which M’bareth was a part, already belonged to the Republic, and the deal Leia was here to make official was already more or less a sure thing. “The trade minister is eager to strike a deal, and by making these investments in local infrastructure…”

But Han had already zoned out, and Leia had to fight, again—still—to push down her nervous impatience. He was _trying_. Leia knew he was trying, and Luke, for his part, was trying too. But neither of them had been born or raised for this, and she didn’t know whether or how to explain that she’d spent half the meeting trying to recover their image from the damage they’d both done, without realizing it, earlier in the day.

“Well, here’s to ‘well enough,’ then?” It almost sounded like a question, but Han took his own drink from an end table and clinked his glass against hers.

Leia took a sip, closed her eyes, and let her head fall back, trying not to feel the weight of what felt like the world.

“You can tell me, you know.” Han’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Everything went fine. There’s nothing to tell.”

“I don’t believe that.” And then his hands were on her shoulders, massaging out knots that had been there for so long they didn’t even feel out of place anymore. “You’re tense.”

Leia sighed. “I’m always tense.” Lately, at least, that was true. She cared too much about her work, about the Republic, although she also couldn’t imagine caring any less about what had been her father’s life work, and was now hers. She’d thought it would help this time, that she wouldn’t be alone, that Han and Luke would be with her, representing the Republic military and the fledgling Jedi Order, but...

“Come on,” Han said, in a soft tone that was only half joking. “What’d I screw up this time?”

“Don’t worry.” Leia opened her eyes and took another sip of the wine. It was good. And between the alcohol and Han’s warm hands on her shoulders, she was starting to relax, at least a little. “It was nothing unsalvageable.”

She knew Han didn't believe her, though. His hands stilled. He didn't jerk them away, didn't storm off like he would have, once upon a time. But something in his touch, and in his presence, went cold. It was times like this that Leia wished she’d never learned about her latent Force abilities, that she’d never agreed to let Luke teach her how to use them. She wished she couldn’t sense Han’s sadness. His disappointment. He _had_ been trying, and maybe she should have just let it go.

But it wasn’t that easy. This was only the first stop on a diplomatic tour that was scheduled over the better part of a month. And while Leia’s reasons for being nervous about M’bareth were mostly personal, some of their other destinations involved higher stakes—ex-Imperial worlds that still weren’t set on the idea of the Republic, or fiercely independent systems that were reluctant to pledge loyalty anywhere. She was grateful that Han, and Luke, for that matter, were trying. But trying wasn’t always good enough, and she knew she’d be doing both of them more of a disservice if she lied, and said everything was fine after all.

“Well…” she said, “to start with, the viceroy of M’bareth isn’t royalty. He’s a representative of the king of Storgas, but…”

But Han hadn’t grown up knowing the difference, and the expression on his face told Leia that even that was close to going over his head.

“The viceroy should be addressed as ‘Your Excellency,’” she explained. “Not ‘Your Highness’”—which was what Han had called him—“and the ministers aren’t nobility at all, except for the minister of culture, who’s the son of a Baron and should be addressed as ‘Lord.’”

“Hey.” Han’s expression softened, and he took Leia’s hand, pulling her up into his arms. “I’m sorry I’m not so good at this stuff. I’m trying. I just… it might take me awhile, you know?”

“I know.” Leia sank into his arms. “It’s not only that, though. I’m glad we’re on this mission together, but the Republic does have other generals. You never have to tag along again, if you don’t want to. I’m more worried about Luke,” she admitted.

“Don’t be,” Han kissed the crown of her head, and ran a hand down the line of her back. “Kid takes care of himself all right. And he’s got this ‘Lord’ and ‘Excellency’ stuff down.”

That was true, at least as far as Leia had observed at the welcoming reception that afternoon. Luke had studied, getting Artoo to project images of the various dignitaries and having Threepio quiz him on their names and proper forms of address.

It wasn’t forms of address that were the problem, though. Han mixed up titles and was more likely than not to regale sons of dukes with tales of his old gambling exploits, but at least he tended to keep talking to—or at the very least, pretending to _listen_ to—the people Leia introduced him to. The true key persons, who had the power to actually make the decisions that mattered to the Republic.

Luke, on the other hand…

“He spent half the banquet talking to one of the waiters.” She sighed. “If he wants any support for this Jedi training school idea, he’s going to have to start forming connections with the people who matter. It’s not that _I_ care,” she explained to Han, who had fixed her with a look that wasn’t quite a scowl. “But the crown prince was apparently offended that Luke gave the servants more of his time than the nobles, and if the royal family and their representatives don’t consent to his recruiting students here…” She sighed. “You haven’t had this much of a problem following my lead.”

“That’s because I let you lead, sweetheart.” Han wrapped his arms around her from the back, and lowered his head to kiss her on the temple. “Can’t go wrong when you don’t say much of anything, am I right?”

Leia sank into his arms for just a moment. She would have liked to stay there, but this diplomatic tour wouldn’t be over for weeks yet, and _someone_ needed to teach Luke, at least, how to play his part. He was supposed to be the last of the Jedi—a living representation of hope for the galaxy. But today, he’d come off more as the awkward farmboy he’d once been. It was one of the things she loved about them—both her husband and her brother. The war had changed them, but it hadn’t changed who they were inside. They weren’t intimidated by rank or title, or blinded to a person’s value by a lack thereof.

And there were times, if Leia was honest with herself, when she envied that. That ability not to worry about the webs of rank and birthright and social connections that had been drilled into her when she could barely speak. If only it weren't for the fact that, on this particular trip, worrying was bound to be a virtue.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged out of Han’s arms. “Do you think I’m overreacting?”

“Always.” There was a hint of a laugh in Han’s voice, but he shook his head. “Someone’s got to overreact, though. So, what exactly did he do wrong?”

It was hard to explain. Leia knew she could tell Han anything, and if he didn’t always understand how some things weighed on her in a way that nothing seemed to on him, at least she knew that he would support what she did, whether or not he always agreed with it.

She didn’t think he’d understand the particular fear that had crept over her, the night she’d been assigned to lead this mission. Han was never scared of not being good enough. He was so comfortable in his skin. He didn’t understand the fear of being brushed off as a child, which persisted even though Leia was twenty-five now, or the fear of people thinking she’d only gotten this assignment because of her parentage—or in spite of her parentage, depending on which parentage they meant.

And he definitely didn’t know what it was like to want so desperately for the rest of the galaxy to see and to love her family for the wonderful people they were. It mattered _so much_ to Leia, that people loved Han and Luke, even though she knew that neither of them cared that much about their own public image.

“Luke’s just not used to being a public figure,” she said, picking her words carefully, even though she knew she shouldn’t have to with Han. “He was seated right across from the crown prince, and kept talking to one of the servers about modding outdated speeders.”

Han just shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?” he asked. “Luke’s not a politician. He’s a nice guy.” Once upon a time, Han wouldn’t have made that sound like a compliment, but he did now. “You knew that when you brought him—and me—along.”

“I know.” Leia felt bad for even bringing it up. "But… Han, if we can’t convince the rest of the galaxy that the Republic— _and_ the Jedi—are worth their time—“

“Shhh.” Han pulled her close and kissed her again, and it did, somehow, melt away some of her panic. “You know Luke wants that, too.”

Leia did know. She felt guilty even for finding fault with her brother, who had taken on so much over the past few years, who was probably as stressed over all of these meetings and negotiations as Leia was. If anything, it bothered her that he didn’t show it. That he could just sit there and talk about machinery, then go back to his suite and meditate in the Force like his reputation, and Han’s, and Leia’s, and the future of the Jedi weren’t on the line.

Han held her even tighter. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Worrying too much,” he whispered. “I might not be a Jedi, but I know you. Your shoulders are all tight.”

He ran a hand across her back, and Leia tried to breathe, tried to make herself relax.

“I think they liked us just fine,” Han said. And he was mostly right. The banquet hadn’t been a disaster. The crown prince was as much of a spoiled brat at 35 as he’d been when Leia had first met him at 18. Of course, Leia had also been a bit of a spoiled brat back then, and even as a child she’d managed to give the crown prince and the viceroy enough of a reason to doubt her competence for a lifetime.

Remembering that made her stiffen again, and Han stepped back to fix her with a patient but suffering smile.

“Look,” he said, “if it’ll make you feel better, why don’t you… I don’t know, teach us your royal… etiquette, protocol, whatever? We’ve got tomorrow morning free, right?”

Leia sighed. “And the tour of local landmarks in the afternoon.” She shook her head. “This is a lifetime of training and manners, Han.”

“So, what?” He was close enough for her to kiss him now, and he _knew_ that devil-may-care attitude would make her want to. “You’re saying me and Luke don’t have _manners_ , now?”

“No,” she said, in the split second before their lips met, and the tension flooded out of her shoulders. “I’m just saying it’ll take more than a morning to turn your version of manners into mine.”

***

Han Solo was fully aware that courtly manners were not his forte. That was why, whenever he had to go to one of these diplomatic shindigs, he followed the only two cardinal rules of negotiating sans blaster that he knew: shut up, and let Leia do the talking.

Now, apparently, that wasn’t enough.

The thing was, though, Han also knew his wife better than anyone in the galaxy, except maybe Luke. And he knew Luke well enough that they could have a whole conversation—Force or no Force—through _looks_ across the living area of Han and Leia’s suite, which was now apparently a makeshift briefing room.

Luke glanced at Leia, then back at Han: _What happened to get us into this mess?_

Han shrugged. _I don’t know. It’s not my fault._

This time, he really didn’t think it was. Leia was stressed about something, and he was sure the reception hadn’t helped that—but it was fuel on the fire, not the spark. She hadn’t even come to bed last night until he was out cold, and then had woken him at dawn this morning. And sometime in the meantime, she and Threepio and Artoo had managed to come up with a complete—and completely exhausting-looking—script for their day.

“Okay,” Leia said, in the same hard, commanding voice she’d used back when she used to work with the troops in a leadership capacity. “As you know, our goals on this leg of the tour are to assess the potential for Republic investment in the infrastructure of the mining district of M'barath, as part of a trade deal." She glanced at Luke, and her voice softened. "And also to secure the support of the royal family of Storgas for Luke's Jedi academy—specifically, to gain their support for recruiting efforts. As part of this diplomatic visit, the viceroy has planned a tour of the district in question. Artoo?”

The little droid projected a holographic map of the planet, which promptly zoomed in on an area around the palace.

“Our first stop is the ruins of the old palace, which was originally built by a rival noble family. The battle that destroyed that castle and allowed this one to be built is generally seen as a positive development in the planet’s history, so it’s generally advisable not to praise the old palace, or its former owners.”

“Can’t praise someone I don’t know anything about,” Han muttered, and Leia fixed him with a stare that could have withered the sun.

“Well, Han,” she said, "that is why I am trying to teach you."

This time, it was Han that met Luke’s eyes across the room. _She’s your sister, kid. Get us out of this._

“Leia?” Luke asked, in that too-soon way that still kind of freaked Han out a little. He hadn’t actually wanted anyone to read his mind.

“Yes?” Her reply was short, and clipped, and Han could have sworn he saw sparks fly with every tiny, punctuated movement she made.

He wanted to hold her. That didn't always work, and Han didn't really _know_ why some things worked and some things didn't. But he hated seeing her in this constant stressed-out state, and hated even more that he couldn't understand it, and couldn't do anything about it. The storm would blow over—he knew that. But he hated not having the power to make it end now.

"Um, well..." Luke said. "Why don't you give us... a list of questions, or something? Things that the viceroy or the crown prince would be happy if we asked about?"

Han had to admit, that wasn't a bad idea.

But Leia shook her head. "I can't just give you a script," she said, and wrung her hands together like she was trying to physically squeeze the stress out of her body.

"Hey," Han said, and stood to sweep her into a one-armed half-hug. "Calm down. It's okay."

Luke frowned. "Is something wrong?"

“Nothing’s wrong.” But Leia sank into one of the suite’s gaudily upholstered armchairs, and buried her face in her hands. “It’s M'barath. It's the crown prince. It's... I don’t know. It’s all of this, really.”

Luke smiled at Han— _Help me out here?_ —and said, “I don’t think it’s going so badly.”

“Luke, you spent half the banquet talking to a servant!” Leia exclaimed, but then the not-quite-angry expression on her face melted into one of wide-eyed apology. “I’m sorry," she said. “I know I still have prejudices of my own to get over. And I know that, in the Republic and in the Force, a person's birth rank doesn't determine their worth. But the reality of it is, this is an very old-fashioned society. You know I don't care who you talk to, or about what. But the crown prince does. And in this particular kingdom of worlds, he holds the power. So if we want the cooperation of this system, and the kingdom it's a part of... we're going to have to follow local etiquette. At least today."

And this, Han thought, was why he shouldn't be allowed on these missions. He didn't give a damn about what some prince thought, and he wasn't going to fault his best friend for actually trying to have an interesting conversation in the middle of one of the most boring banquets Han had ever experienced—and with the number of banquets Leia had dragged him to since the end of the war and the foundation of the Republic, that was saying a lot.

But he also knew this whole Republic thing had him forced into a corner. Now that the war was technically over, no one was going to send the princess of Alderaan on combat missions, and so if Han ever wanted to spend more than a night or two on the same system with his wife again, he guessed he was going to have to at least pretend to follow the rules.

"All right, fine," he said. "Tell me whose ass to kiss and how."

He glanced at Luke, hoping again for a little backup, but Luke was looking at Leia—looking _through_ her, more like it—with an expression somewhere between thoughtful and sad. "Something's bothering you," he said. "Something more than the mission. What is it?"

 _Damn the Force._ Han was usually glad he didn’t have it. He saw what everything with Vader, and now this whole "carrying on the Jedi legacy" was doing to Luke, and that wasn't a burden he needed or wanted. But there _was_ something bothering Leia. Something more than the constant state of stress that politics seemed to put her in. And his heart still ached with a little jealous stab, that Luke understood her sometimes—whether through the Force or through whatever kind of twin bond they seemed to have developed since they'd found out—on a level that Han really couldn't.

"It's nothing." She shook her head. "Being around the viceroy and the crown prince, just... reminds me of Alderaan. Not like that,” she added in response to the concerned expression on Luke’s face, and the one Han felt color his own. “It’s just... they visited Alderaan when I was a child.”

“So, what?” Han asked. “You’re worried he doesn’t see you as… adult, or competent, or something?” He gave her a wry half-smile. “Or that he won’t take you seriously as long as you’re hanging out with a couple of moon jockeys like us?”

That, he thought, was close. She was still ashamed of them, then. Sometimes. Five years ago, the thought would have made Han say something sarcastic, and probably storm out of the room. But that was the old Han. When Leia got upset, he’d wanted to push her further. Break her. Now he just wanted to keep her safe and whole.

Still, he thought she'd deny it. Instead, she just pursed her lips and said, "Maybe.... Han!"

Now _Leia_ was reading his mind. But the expression on her face wasn’t angry. She looked… small, somehow. She _was_ small, but rarely seemed it, but there was something now about the way she slumped her shoulders and closed her eyes, and shook a little with whatever she was feeling.

“It’s embarrassing,” she said, to Luke first, and Han wondered if some kind of unspoken question had also passed between them.

“You can tell us,” Luke said.

“Yeah,” Han added, fully aware of how awkward and… not good enough he sounded. “You can tell us anything. Any time.”

Leia nodded; her forehead lined. “I’m not naturally good at this,” she said. “Don’t argue!” Another response to something Luke hadn’t said. “I’m not. I studied politics and etiquette and history and culture for years. And my father hadn’t finished my education when…” The words seemed to catch in her throat. “So I know…” Leia looked first Han and then Luke in the eye. “I know this isn’t easy for you. For either of you, being thrust into this position of—of representing the Republic. And I’m proud of both of you.”

Han raised an eyebrow.

“I _am_! But the first time I met the crown prince… I embarrassed myself, okay? And I want to show him that I’ve grown up. That I…” Her voice caught again. “That I’m worthy to continue the work of my father.”

“Embarrassed yourself?” Han wasn’t quite sure if he’d meant it as teasing or comforting. Leia, in any case, gave him a stare that could have started a blizzard on Tatooine.

“What?” Han looked at Luke for support, but he just shook his head. “I want to hear this, don’t you, kid?”

“Fine.” Leia rolled her eyes, but a hint of a smile started to play on her lips. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“You have my word as a gentleman.”

Leia shook her head, but she went on. “When I was a kid, I had a voorpak.”

Han wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but he nodded.

Luke, on the other hand, leaned forward, wide-eyed, in his chair. “One of those floofy pets with eight legs? They’re adorable.”

“Yes,” Leia said with a sigh. “Her name was… Mimi.”

Han swallowed his laugh, and just nodded.

“The first time I met the viceroy, I was eight years old. My parents had just started to allow me to attend state functions, and I had been to just enough of them at that point to realize how boring they were. So… I brought Mimi.”

Han saw where this was going. “I’m gonna guess that doesn’t exactly count as proper courtly manners.”

Luke covered his mouth too late to hide a not-quite-laughing smile, and Leia—thank the Force—smiled back.

“No,” she said, “it doesn’t. For about the first course and a half, I was fine. I’d trained Mimi to hide under my skirts, and even though I kept talking about her to anyone who would listen”—she gave Luke a silent Look—“no one actually suspected she was there. But when they brought the roast out…”

“Let me guess,” Han said. “These voor...floof…things are carnivores?” He’d been around Chewie for long enough to imagine how _that_ must have gone.

Leia nodded, and her little half-smile curved upward and became full, but the beginnings of tears had also started to rim her eyes. “It was… a disaster. The dinner was ruined. My father made me take Mimi upstairs, and I wanted to stay there. But I had to come back, and eat dessert, and say goodbye to the delegation. And when my father saw the Storgan delegation out to their speeder…” She closed her eyes, and Luke reached out to take her hand.

“I don’t even know if he meant me to hear it,” she whispered, and a tear ran down her cheek. Han’s heart ached. He didn’t really get it, the way Leia cared way too much about what other people thought. But the memory hurt her—he could tell that much at least, and even though neither of their gaudy gold armchairs were big enough for two, he sat as well as he could on the arm of hers, and wrapped an awkward arm around her shoulders.

“What’d he say?” Han asked. “Come on, get it out. It’ll make you feel better.”

"He said..." And Leia deepened her voice, stained it with a disdainful tone that sounded to Han _exactly_ like that of Prince Stick-Up-His-Ass. "It has been a pleasure, Your Majesty. Your Royal Highness. I hope very sincerely to enjoy the hospitality of Alderaan again in the future. Perhaps by then, the young princess will also have learned some manners."

"Aww, come on." Han held her close, hating that she was shaking and that he couldn't do anything about it. "You were a kid. He probably doesn't even remember."

Luke shook his head— _Not helping, Han._

But there wasn't much else Han could do. "All right, all right." He lowered his voice. "What do you say, Luke? Think you and me can learn some royal manners in the next couple of hours?"

"It's not that simple," Leia protested, but she relaxed into his arms, just a little. "It's a lifetime of training."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm good at faking it, then. Hey, Artoo?"

Artoo, who had long since given up on maintaining the projection of his map, swiveled his dome to fix Han with a questioning series of lights.

"You, uh, wanna tell us all about those ruins again?"

The reply was completely unintelligible.

"He says—" Luke began, but Leia cut in.

"It's fine, Artoo. Why don't you go on to the next destination? And you two?" She glanced at Han and Luke with eyes that were still red, but now dry. "You're getting the crash course." She emphasised the last two words. "Remember: Safe topics only, _try_ to use proper grammar, and remember, we're here to impress the crown prince, and he likes to be the center of attention. Focus your questions and compliments on him."

"You can count on us," Han promised, and he knew Leia didn't really trust his confidence. But while it was true that, when it came to manners, he was a total amateur, he and Luke were both old pros at Doing What Leia Said.

***

No matter how many planets Luke visited, the galaxy kept finding ways to surprise him. He had never seen rock formations as brilliantly colored as the ones that towered over M’barath’s countryside, their sheen seeming to move and shift with the flight of the speeder, like an oil slick dancing on water, and the calls of the less brightly-plumed but surprisingly friendly birds that swept close to the speeder sounded more like music than any wildlife he’d ever heard.

The weather was warm and the viceroy was smiling, and even the crown prince gave off a satisfied pride as their guide introduced the landscape of these remote regions of his kingdom, and the strides they'd made toward recovery from Imperial rule.

Leia, seated next to Han and across from the prince on the long bench that ran the perimeter of the oblong, open-topped speeder, looked as much a princess now as she ever had. Her back was straight, her hands folded in her lap, her smile unobtrusive but eternally, unflinchingly _there._

And yet, in the Force, she gave off sparks of worry and irritation with every thought that flew into her head. Luke could feel them, like little pricks of discomfort shooting into the air, even though her expression remained calm and diplomatic.

 _Breathe, Leia._ He tried to send her a bit of calm, but Leia, although she'd barely started her training, was as naturally strong with the Force as he was. Blocking him out wasn't hard. She didn't _want_ to calm down, or enjoy the beautiful day around them. Peaceful diplomatic visit or not, to Leia this might as well have been a warzone. And at some level, Luke thought, she liked it that way.

"The wildlife here is truly unique, isn't it, Your Excellency?" Luke asked, and that, of course, had a greater relaxing effect on Leia than the Force had. An approved conversation topic _and_ the correct form of address for the viceroy. _Relax,_ he tried to mentally tell Leia. _We've got this._

The viceroy nodded, looked down his long nose at Luke, and said, "Yes, well I imagine it's a bit different from... Tatooine, was it?"

"That's right." Luke tried to keep his tone neutral, but the thing was... he understood how Leia felt. He knew what it was like to feel in over his head. He barely felt like an adult most of the time, much less a Jedi. Much less the only trained Jedi in the galaxy, and therefore the default representative of a dead way of life he wasn't sure he fully understood. And he was fairly sure that, whether they deserved it or not, the viceroy and the crown prince _were_ looking down on all three of them. Testing them. And like Leia, he didn't want to fail.

The banquet had been... a different situation. Luke wasn't exactly _good_ at politics, but he did know it was more important to impress the royals than to answer the questions of a servant who had heard that the hero of Yavin had actually learned to fly on an old T-16. It was hard to explain to himself, much less to Leia, how some part of him that was still that nobody kid from Nowhere, Tatooine had somehow felt—through the Force or just through nostalgia—that at that particular moment in time, that had been the more important conversation to have.

Today, though, he had made a promise to Leia, and he nodded and smiled at the viceroy's explanation, even though he'd heard it all that morning from Leia and Artoo. When that conversation died out, Han asked another Approved Question, and Leia's sparks seemed to calm down again.

After about an hour of this that definitely felt like more, the speeder came to a halt outside a village that, according to Artoo's briefing, was one of the mining villages for which the Republic would be providing communications and transportation technology, in exchange for priority bidding on the weapons-grade metals the surrounding mountains produced. It didn't look like anyone was mining today, though; the village was strung with colorful flags and banners, and lively music and sharp, savory smells wafted from the center of town.

"Today is market day," announced one of the prince's attendants. "And as part of our tour, we would like to introduce you to some of the finest cuisine and culture that M'bareth has to offer."

Luke could practically see Leia's panic, jolting through her just as her smile reflexively widened. The briefing she'd given him and Han about the village had mostly related to their metal mining operations. _Relax_ , Luke tried again to tell her. Sure, it was a deviation from the script, but they could handle it. It wasn't like they hadn't been to a market before. _Please, Leia,_ he begged her through the Force. _Trust us. We'll be fine._

"This is a lovely surprise, your Highness, your Excellency." Leia's voice sounded genuinely pleased—to anyone, that is, who couldn't see the way her aura screeched like the alarms in an overheated X-wing.

"Yeah," Han said, looking first to Leia, and then to Luke for guidance. "Everything, uh... smells great."

Another jolt.

 _Breathe, Leia._ But Luke's efforts to calm his sister fell on full-force mental shields.

Fine, then. If he couldn't help Leia, he could at least try to read the people around him. The village was full of the sort of everyday white noise that Luke could feel almost anywhere, if he was looking. Minor annoyances. Minor thrills. Hunger pangs and racing nerves and the light, bright freeness of laughter. There was nothing that stuck out to him, though. It was a day off. The people were mostly happy, and the bits of darkness that were threaded among them were nothing more than normal, imperfect life.

Luke narrowed his focus, then, to their group. The same attendant who had spoken in the speeder led the way with a stiff, perfunctory pride. He was doing his job. He was doing it well, and he knew it, and there was nothing to suggest that anything was out of the ordinary. The viceroy and his daughters seemed bored, but calm and professional. The younger daughter asked Han a question Luke couldn't quite make out, and he could practically feel Han forcing himself not to roll his eyes.

The crown prince, too, had an air of slight annoyance about him, but it didn't seem to be directed toward Leia, as she feared. It was more that it was hot, that the tour was long and boring, that the idea of visiting a village market wasn't any more fun for the second-most powerful man in the kingdom than the idea of sitting through another diplomatic dinner was to Luke. It was possible that Leia had picked up on this undercurrent of everyday annoyance, but whether he remembered the voorpak incident or not, the prince didn't seem to be upset that the Republic's representative had once been the eight-year-old girl behind it. And at least—if this wasn't just Luke, reading too much into it—her general husband and Jedi brother were proving less of an annoyance today.

Leia was upset though, and Luke understood that, too—there were more than a handful of incidents from his childhood that still embarrassed him even to think about. He was secretly happy, in a way, to share that kind of awkwardness with Leia... but it also meant that her panic hurt in a way that felt too close to home. "How often are these markets held?" Luke asked. That hadn't been on Leia's list of conversational topics, but it seemed safe.

It was the viceroy's eldest daughter who answered. "Our local weeks are eight days long, and market is usually held on the seventh. The tradition was actually started on the homeworld by King Argaleth IV."

The crown prince's pride swelled at the mention of whom Luke assumed was a distant ancestor, and Luke nodded, acknowledging the information with a smile. _See?_ Luke tried to send again, to Leia. _Everything's okay. We'll be fine._

They entered the village in what was not quite a line, and, people came to their windows, their doors. There was a sense of awe about them, at the presence of the visiting nobility, and a pulsing curiosity about the visitors as well. A child—a baby, really, too young to understand the concept of fame or social class—waved at them from his mother’s arms, and Leia waved back with the practiced air of a career—no, a lifetime politician.

“The people in this village are especially grateful to the Republic,” the viceroy’s daughter explained. “Under the Empire, the local mines were commandeered to produce metals and crystals at a rate that was almost impossible for the local workforce to maintain. The workers were barely paid a living wage. Now that they’re free, they’ve returned to more traditional techniques, and the local economy is beginning to revitalize.”

The smile on Leia’s face this time was one of genuine joy. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “We hope to continue to showcase the quality and value of your metals to all of the Republic worlds.”

They entered the marketplace, once more drawing attention from older children who clung to their mothers' skirts and groups of miners whose conversations dried up when the Republic delegation walked by. "Come, now," the viceroy said. "Let me get you all something to drink. You must be tired after such a long speeder ride."

A young woman with a child on her back and another, apparently, growing within her, ladled a steaming red liquid into transparent cups that were surprisingly cool to the touch, although the juice—if that's what it was—burned their tongues. "There have been so many babies born since the fall of the Empire," the viceroy said to Leia. It was true, Luke realized. There were a handful of older children running around, but the sheer number of babies and pregnant women they saw indicated that the joy of victory had apparently inspired a boom in population as well as economy.

"Speaking of which," he heard Leia say as she drew the two daughters aside. "I hear you're expecting a grandchild?"

"Hey." Han came up beside Luke, raising his glass of hot juice in a mock toast. "How're you holding up?"

"Not bad. You?"

Han shrugged. "Haven't managed to offend Her Worship yet. That I know of." He chugged the rest of his juice and returned the cup to the vendor, then headed off into the market with a glance over his shoulder that said he wanted Luke to follow.

"Did she say anything to you?" Han asked, when they were far enough from the others that they probably wouldn't be heard.

"Who, Leia?" Luke shook his head. "I haven't been alone with her since we've been here. Why? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Han said, but it didn't really feel like he meant it. "It's just, she's always begging me to come along on these things, and when I do—"

“Captain Solo?”

Luke and Han spun around in unison, coming face to face—or face-to-chest, in Luke's case—with the crown prince, whose thick-soled boots made him tower over even Han.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Your Highness," Luke whispered, and Han corrected himself with a scowl.

"Your Highness. My, uh... friend and I were just, uh... admiring the..." He glanced back over his shoulder at the booth behind them, where a teenage boy was sprinkling salt on what looked like fried insects on skewers.

"Ahhh, a local delicacy," the prince said, and named either the creatures or the recipe that contained them with a string of syllables Luke would never have guessed were pronounceable to a human tongue if he hadn't just heard them. The prince nodded to the boy, and jabbed a finger at a plate heaped with the brown, crispy tangles of legs. "Two."

The boy bowed his head. "Yes, Your Highness." He stabbed each with a skewer and held them out to the prince. As with the drinks, the prince made no effort to pay.

The prince shook his hand at Han and Luke in a gesture that managed to be frustrated and elegant. "They are not for me," he scolded, "but for our honored guests from the Republic." The boy burned—in the Force, but also with the red of his cheeks—with a deep-seated shame. "I—I apologize," he stammered.

"It's okay," Luke said, taking both of the skewers and handing one to Han. "These look delicious," he said, even though they reminded him more of Master Yoda's swamp cooking than anything. The crown prince was watching him—aware, maybe, that insects weren't exactly a staple of Tatooinian cuisine. _Never underestimate the stomach of someone who lived for years on Alliance rations,_ Luke _thought_ a little too hard in his direction, and swallowed the leggy thing in one gulp. It wasn't exactly _good_ , but it wasn't as bad as he'd feared it would be, and the smile on the boy's face—not to mention the thinly-veiled disappointment on the prince's—made the crunchy, slightly hairy texture worth it.

The prince smiled—not really in approval, but at least he had nothing more to disapprove of. “I am glad to see that you are enjoying the market," he said. "Although that is not what I wished to speak with you about. Captain Solo, forgive my abruptness, but it seems to me that the princess and yourself make… a slightly unconventional match.”

Han shrugged. “Some people might say that. Your Highness.”

“General Solo may not be royalty, but he has been instrumental to the rebuilding of the Republic,” Luke said, and when the prince returned his attention to Han, he slid a handful of Republic credits across the counter to the boy at the food stall. "Take it," he said, with a wave of his hand and a _nudge_ that wouldn't let the boy say no. "For your family."

“That’s right,” Han bragged, in response to Luke's compliment. “I bet Leia didn’t tell you how me and Chewie smoked out this whole nest of Imperial holdouts with a couple of detonators and—“

“But that's not all," Luke added, trying to direct his gaze obviously enough over Han's shoulder for Han to follow it, and to see that Leia and the viceroy's daughters were crossing the marketplace toward them. "Captain Solo was also instrumental in the formulation of the peace agreement—"

"Let me finish," Han said. "We weren't even expecting to run into these guys. So it's just me and my co-pilot, we're seriously under-armed, and I might have had a couple of drinks. You know how it is?"

"Han."

Leia's voice wasn't fire so much as ice, and Luke imagined the hand that wrapped around Han's elbow and led him away from the conversation was the same.

He stood there, for a moment, wondering how to continue a conversation that he'd barely been a part of in the first place. The crown prince watched with a raised eyebrow and what might have been a smile, as Leia fought to keep from raising her voice at Han.

“Ahh," he said. "The joys of marriage. Are you married, Jedi Skywalker?"

Luke almost laughed. "No. I'm busy enough just trying to revive the Jedi Order."

The prince nodded, carefully, as if he was either interested and trying not to show it, or uninterested, and trying to pretend that he cared. "I remember. That is why you are here. I have few memories of the Jedi. But you may find that some of our older citizens are less receptive to the idea than I am."

Luke was used to skepticism by now, but he still wished Han or Leia was close enough for moral support. The more he traveled the galaxy, the more people he met who remembered the old Jedi—and many of their memories were less than positive. "It is our hope," he explained, raising his voice just a little in the hope that Han or Leia would hear him, "that a new Jedi Order could help maintain our hard-won peace in the galaxy."

“Peace." The prince seemed to consider the word. "I do wonder if an army of knights with a mystical Force at their command would truly bring peace, or only more conflict.”

“A true Jedi uses violence only as a last resort,” Luke said, and breathed a sigh of relief when Han managed to break away from Leia and rejoin them.

“Excuse me, Your Highness,” Han interrupted. "I, uh, need to borrow Luke here for a second. Marital emergency."

Without waiting for a response, he steered Luke away from the prince and toward a row of stalls filled with a variety of brightly-colored clothing. “You gotta help me kid," he pleaded. "She’s freaking out. Apparently, I’m an embarrassment now.”

“You’re not,” Luke said. It wasn’t quite true. But right now, it was what Han needed to hear.

Luke knew he was embarrassing Leia a little too. She had seen him give money to the boy, and was probably in tune enough with the Force to have picked up on the argumentative tone of his conversation with the prince. They didn't necessarily agree on tactics, but Luke did understand how she felt. It wasn’t so much that anything crucial depended on this one village, this one marketplace on this one world. But the happiness and the livelihood of billions of people rode on the shoulders of the Republic. Of the Jedi. Of Luke, and Leia—and Han too, even though he was lucky that it didn’t seem to weigh on him quite as much.

“She’s not really upset with us,” Luke said. “She’s just… overwhelmed, I think, at all of this.”

Han nodded, and stopped to feign interest in a shop selling rustic-looking, rainbow-colored shawls.

“She asked me to come, you know,” he said. “Asked Ackbar to pick me, over all the guys who could have represented the military.”

The shopkeeper picked up a blue and purple shawl, and draped it around her own broad shoulders. “For your lady?” she asked Han.

Han glanced at Luke, a question in his eyes. But he knew Luke didn't have the answer.

“Yeah,” Han said. “Sure, why not? Might help her not bite my head off during the rest of this blasted mission, you know?”

 _Might help if you didn’t call it a “blasted mission,”_ Luke thought, but he kept his mouth shut while Han paid.

"You can't just buy your way into her heart," Luke said, as they made their way back through the crowd in search of Leia. "She knows you're trying. Things like this might help, but—"

Leia's eyes grew wide when she saw the shawl.

"Han," she said, "this is... we're already married."

Han looked at Luke, a question in his eyes.

Leia shook her head in what was probably supposed to be frustration, except that a smile had already started to turn the corners of her eyes. "This is a promise shawl," she said. "Not quite as binding as a formal engagement. But these designs here?" She let her fingers dance over the pattern around the hem. "They mark the wearer as in a committed but premarital relationship with the giver."

She stood there, holding it, and Luke thought she was going to give it back. "Well," he said, "try it on." He didn't even try to use a Jedi mind trick. She knew what he was saying. _Put it on. Relax. Embarrass yourself a little bit, to stop from embarrassing Han._

“Thank you, Han," she said, "but..."

"Put it on!" The old woman from the stall called out to her, and the viceroy's younger daughter nodded in reply.

"Put it on."

"Put it on!" A younger boy this time. "I bet you'll look real pretty."

"Shhh!" —but with a smile, from his mom.

And Leia wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. It clashed a little with the burgundy of her dress, but bringing out the warmth of her eyes, the little village of miners and craftsmen and market-day cooks, at their doors and windows and stalls, started to applaud.

“Isn’t that sweet?” an older woman practically squealed. “Don’t let that one go, Miss! You’ve got yourself a keeper.”

Leia smiled. She just kept smiling, but she felt to Luke like a storm. The thread of warmth she felt at Han’s gift swirled under a maelstrom of embarrassment and frustration, punctuated constantly by the ticking sparks of stress that were always, always, always erupting in her head.

“It looks nice,” Luke said. _Relax, Leia. They love you._ And he didn't really think it was much of a Jedi mind trick, but she believed it. At least a little. At least for now.

“Excuse me?” A teenage girl dressed in a plainer, brown-and-gold-streaked frock of the same traditional fabric pushed her way through the crowd.

Leia smiled. "Yes?"

“They said people were coming from the Republic,” the girl gasped, too fast and out of breath like she’d run here. “But I didn’t think it would be _you_.”

It took Luke a second to realize she wasn’t talking to Leia, but to him.

“You’re Luke Skywalker, right? The Jedi?”

“Yes,” Luke said, cautiously. He wasn’t really used to being recognized. His name was fairly well-known by now, but the Alliance and then the Republic had done their best—originally to protect him from Vader—to keep his face from becoming publicly known. Even when people did know him, they were more often than not disappointed and surprised to see how young, how small, how exceedingly _normal_ the Republic’s great Jedi seemed to be.

But this girl was looking at him with stars in her eyes that made Luke’s heart ache. She was every inch the awkward, excitable kid he’d once been.

“I didn’t think they’d really send you!” she said again. “Is it true you’re starting a school for Jedi? I always wanted to—I mean…”

Luke glanced at Leia, who had linked her hand with Han's and was trying too obviously not to glow with happiness. He glanced at the crown prince, whose attention was focused on Leia as well. And then he looked back at the girl, at the way she clasped her hands together, rocked back and forth on her feet, so obviously worried that he—that Luke Skywalker from Tatooine, whose only so-called friends had laughed at him and called him Wormie—wouldn’t have time to listen to what she had to say.

“Well, it’s not exactly official yet. But I’d like to, yes. And…” Luke hadn’t actually given a lot of thought to how he’d find students, whether he’d want to take only the brightest and the best or to teach anyone who was interested. He couldn’t give her details he didn’t even have, but he said, “It might not be a very big school, at first. Not with only one teacher. But when everything’s ready, if you’re interested—“

“I am!”

Luke knew he was supposed to be playing the calm, thoughtful Jedi, but the smile on the girl’s face spread to his. “Okay,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Sha’enn, daughter of Sahi, Miner's Guild 87,” she said, and then reddened. As if where she came from was somehow embarrassing. As if being a miner was less, somehow, than being a Jedi.

“Nice to meet you, Sha’enn,” he said. “I’m Luke Skywalker. Jedi knight. But originally from the Lars moisture farm on Tatooine.”

***

Leia wasn’t upset. It seemed like she _should_ be, somehow, that Han had turned their tour of the village into a public and embarrassing date, buying her sweets from the food stalls while the older women of the village followed them around, asking them how they had met and fallen in love. That Luke had practically adopted the miner girl, telling her things that were probably supposed to be at least somewhat confidential, and earning them all an invitation to afternoon tea with her parents in a stone hovel on the edge of the village.

But somehow, despite the fact that both Leia’s script and the crown prince’s had been completely thrown out the airlock, the trip had managed to be, by anyone’s standards, a success.

“Hope I didn’t screw up too much,” Han whispered in her ear, between the sweet, scented bubbles of the last bath they’d have before another long hyperspace trip to their next destination tomorrow.

Leia leaned back against his shoulder, closed her eyes. The little cries of panic in her head were almost silent, and she breathed in deep, trying to feel the peace of the Force, like Luke was trying to teach her. She didn’t want to worry so much. Didn’t want to be judgmental. “Sometimes you do know what you’re doing,” she admitted. “I think a couple of those villagers’ partners are going to held to a pretty high standard for awhile.”

“Well, I _am_ a model gentleman.”

Han kissed her temple, then her cheek, and was on his way to her mouth when the built-in com system chimed.

“Don’t get it,” he whispered, but Leia shook herself away.

“Hold that thought?” she said. “It’s the viceroy.” She scrambled out of the bath, wrapped her hair in a towel and the rest of herself in a bathrobe, and answered the com in the suite’s main room. “Good evening, Viceroy.”

“Princess.” The viceroy’s dry voice rasped through the room.

“Please,” she said, although she knew by now he wouldn’t listen, “call me Leia.”

“Princess,” he insisted. “Your Jedi friend and I have just been having a… very interesting discussion. As it turns out, I knew his father… once upon a time.”

A lump rose into Leia’s throat. “That… is quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” She chose her words carefully. The people of M’bareth may have loved Luke and Han, but the people weren’t the ones who made policy decisions regarding the Republic. And if Luke had actually mentioned their parentage to the viceroy, or to the crown prince…

“I remember him as… an angry young man. Knew all the right things to say, but every time he bowed his head, or called the older Jedi with him ‘Master’... it was clear he had a problem with authority.”

Leia nodded, and then, remembering that she was in a bathrobe and the com was most definitely voice only, said, “I apologize for any rudeness on the part of—“

“Let me finish. He was... barely polite, in a way that let myself, and the young king, know that he had no respect for our positions. I remember that, quite well, because it went so strongly against what we had known of the Jedi until then. But there was something about him. He had a way of inspiring the people, of bringing vitality to every village he visited. He cared very deeply about the miners, the farmers, the palace servants... people the king and I had barely thought about before. People who, under Imperial rule, were allowed to be used and abused again."

The viceroy didn’t know, then. Not that Leia was Anakin’s daughter, and not that Anakin was Vader. _Thank you, Luke._ She tried to send him a silent thanks. Leia wasn’t sure when she’d be able to share that particular connection… but she knew that she wasn’t ready yet.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Han, dressed in a similar bathrobe to hers, came out. Leia lifted a finger to her lips, urging him to be quiet, and to her not-quite-surprise, he did as he was told.

"I have spoken with the crown prince, as well, and he was impressed by the show of affection today by your General Solo."

Han raised an eyebrow, and Leia silently shushed him again.

"This is a bit of a personal matter, but as we are old friends"—now Leia raised an eyebrow—"I feel that I can trust you. The people—particularly the older women of the village—were quite impressed with the idea of leaders who are not afraid to be human, to make and accept romantic gestures in the presence of those whom they lead. The crown prince’s wife is from a remote Rim world, and doesn’t speak much Basic. It has been… difficult, to say the least, to help the people form an devotion to her as their future queen. The prince himself asked me to thank you for your example. Captain Solo was able to charm the people through his… simple relatability. The prince was able to learn a lot, I think, from your interactions today.”

Leia wasn’t quite sure if the look on Han’s face made her want to kiss him or slap him. For the time being, she settled for a shake of her head and a smile.

“We’ve also decided,” the viceroy went on, “to greenlight our cooperation with your Jedi recruiting efforts. The king himself will make the official announcement before your departure tomorrow, but Jedi Skywalker is welcome to any of M’bareth’s, and Sargas’s, citizens who wish to learn from him.”

“Thank you.” Leia felt like she was back in the bath—warm and happy and weightless. “I appreciate it,” she said. “Having your support will encourage other worlds to follow.”

“We hope so. And Princess Leia?”

“Yes?” There was something about the way he said it that made a lump rise in her throat. She met Han’s eyes across the room.

“You have grown into a beautiful, well-mannered young woman. I knew your father well…” The viceroy’s voice faltered, and Leia suspected she was not the only one grateful that the com was voice only. “He would be proud of you, and of your consort. And of the Republic the two of you will build.”

“Thank you,” Leia said. Her voice was shaking now, tears watering her eyes at the memory of Bail Organa and Alderaan. They said their goodbyes, and Leia and Han were left alone in the suite.

“Consort, huh?” Han asked. “I kind of like the sound of that.” He whispered the words against her mouth, a hairbreadth away from a kiss.

“Prince Consort Han Solo.” Leia closed the space between them, her lips meeting his with a smile. “I definitely like the sound of that. It suits you.”

“Hmmm…” he murmured in her ear. “So do I get a fancy title now?”

“Do you want one?” She stepped forward, steering him back towards the suite’s bedroom.

“Not really,” Han admitted, as he dimmed the lights and closed the door behind him. “But it’s nice sometimes to be reminded that you could have had a jerk like that prince, and picked a nerf herder like me instead.”

Leia just smiled, and pulled him close. Life with Consort Solo could be stressful. But she wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

Luke wasn’t quite sure if he owed his sister and explanation or an apology. In the end, he decided to give her both. The next morning, over buttery pastries and slices of fruit in the main room of Han and Leia’s suite, he said, “Leia, about yesterday…”

She wasn’t angry anymore, if she ever really had been, and tried to wave the apology away. “I spoke to the viceroy last night,” she said. “I’m sorry for doubting you.” She glanced at Han. “ _Both_ of you. The people loved you. And as distant as the crown prince seems, he loves his people. They’re going to pledge their support for the Jedi academy today.”

“That’s great!” Luke said, and he couldn’t have stopped himself from smiling. But he still needed to explain to Leia why he hadn’t—why he couldn’t—follow the same rules of social class that she did. “There’s something else, though. It’s nothing bad!” he rushed to explain, when Leia’s eyes widened in concern. “It’s just… I need you to understand this. I can’t treat people differently based on their social class, or fame. And as a Jedi, I don’t think I should.”

“Luke,” Leia began softly, “I’m not telling you to treat people _badly._ ”

“I know. You’re saying that it’s important to get the favor of the people with the power to help you. I understand that. I do. And I know why you have to keep doing that, at least on missions like this one. But… did I ever tell you about the pilot I met in Mos Eisley?”

“Not unless you mean Han.” Leia glanced at Han, and he smiled.

“Not Han.” Luke laughed, glad that Leia wasn’t too upset to keep joking. “I was… maybe twelve or thirteen years old, in the city with my uncle to pick up some parts for the farm. And there was an Imperial pilot in town. I’m not really sure why. The Empire usually stayed out of local business. He was in uniform, though, and I wanted more than anything to talk to him, so I slipped away from my uncle, and I did.”

He hadn’t expected this memory to be so painful. It had been more than a decade ago, and he knew by now that, pilot or not, the man had just been human, and fallible. And that—former awkward farm boy or not—Luke Skywalker had become something, after all.

Still, the embarrassment seemed fresh, as he told Han and Leia in as few and as emotionless words as possible how he’d gone up to the pilot and tugged him on the sleeve and asked if he was _really_ a starpilot and had he gone to the Academy and what kind of ship did he fly?

“And he looked down at me,” Luke said, “with this expression like… like I was some sort of glitch in his engine. And he said…”

It shouldn’t have hurt, not after all these years, from an Imperial pilot who, for all Luke knew, was long dead. But it was because of people like him, like Camie and Fixer and, at some level, even Uncle Owen, that Luke still found it hard to believe, all these years later, that he _was_ someone. That he mattered. That he always had. That everyone, everywhere in the galaxy, always did.

“He said, ‘Out of my way, kid. I’ve got no time for sand fleas.” It sounded so silly, to say it aloud. But it had come from a real starpilot—someone who, to Luke, was supposed to be a hero. And the worst thing of all was that it felt true. He’d always suspected and feared he was nothing—because he was a kid. Because he was a farmer. Because he lived on Tatooine. And that pilot had just told him it was true.

He didn’t expect Leia or Han to understand. Leia had always had a future, a role. Han’s upbringing had been tougher, Luke knew, but he was confident enough that even if someone had said something like that to him, Luke suspected it would have only hardened his pride.

“It made me feel like nothing,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. I don’t think I can do that to someone else.”

Leia nodded, slowly and thoughtfully, and she reached across the table to take his hand. “You shouldn’t,” she said. “I was wrong. And I’m sorry. I think one hard-nosed politician’s enough for this tour. We balance each other.” She nodded at Han. “The three of us. We always have. And it might be harder to find that balance in peace than in war, but…”

“It’s still there,” Luke agreed. “I think we can.”

***

Han had to admit that it actually felt good to have the officially signed infrastructure-trade thing in his hand. Not quite good enough to actually remember the name of the thing, but a mission accomplished was a mission accomplished, whether it involved blasting anything or not.

“It was a pleasure,” he said, trying his best to hide the sarcasm. “Your Excellency. Your Highness.” And to the elderly king, “Your Majesty.” He cocked his head in Leia’s direction with a grin that he hoped said, _Hey, Princess, I’m only doing this for you._

The crown prince’s young wife, who really did barely speak a word of Basic, echoed the expression. “It was a pleasure,” she said, and then looked at her husband for confirmation. “Captain Consort General Han Solo.”

“Close enough.” Han smiled at her, and nodded to the prince. “Good luck with your marriage and all,” he said. “It’s not always easy. But it’s worth it.”

He took Leia’s arm, nodded at Luke, and the three of them, followed by the droids, boarded the shuttle.

“I don’t know about you two,” Han said, as soon as the landing ramp had closed behind them, “but I, for one, could use a good, stiff drink.”

“That doesn’t sound bad,” Leia admitted, “but _after_ I’ve briefed you on our next stop.”

“It’s quite fascinating,” Threepio broke in. “The Premier of Fal Saleen has repeatedly expressed the belief that membership in the Republic would conflict with the system’s indigenous religion.”

Han rolled his eyes. “Sounds right up my alley.”

Luke choked back a laugh, but Leia looked at him with genuine concern in her eyes.

“Han,” she said. “If this is too much for you, we can find another representative from the military.”

She meant it, too. But Han had meant what he said, when they’d started on this tour. He wanted to help her. Help Luke. Help the Republic.

“I’m good,” he said. “I mean, I’m not. But I think I’m learning. Come on Threepio, tell me all about this premier guy. Is he an excellency or a highness?”

Leia shook her head. “ _She_ is neither. You’d better sit down, Han. I get the feeling it’s going to a be a long jump.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments and feedback are appreciated!
> 
> Now that this isn’t anonymous anymore, check out my Tumblr, where I post ficlets and gush over the original trio: staringatthetwinsuns.tumblr.com


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